


Let's Dance

by theoddling



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Inspired by a David Bowie Song, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Whump, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddling/pseuds/theoddling
Summary: Because my love for you,would break my heart in two,if you should fall, into my arms,and tremble like a flower.Your relationship with Klaus began with dancing, and ended there too.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Let's Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Live at Glastonbury version of David Bowie's "Let's Dance" which is a must slower and more longing version of the song.

“Dance!” he called, shouting over the pounding base. “With me!”

His slight bow and his outstretched hand seemed out of place in the crowded club, red and blue lights flashing at seemingly random overhead. He teeth practically glowed in the steadier blacklights. Strobes reflected in his eyes, making his already manic expression seem even wilder.

The smart person would have said no.

You giggled, downing the rest of your drink and placing your fingers in his. With a tug, he pulled you to your feet and into the heart of the crowd. His hands found your hips pulling you flush against him. Your shirt rose up as you shimmied together and your heart thrummed when hot skin met feverish. The scope of the world seemed to narrow until it was just you and him and the music moving you, the rhythm helping you meld into one perfect, flowing being.

Somewhere, or rather somewhen, his lips were on yours and you breathed each other like air. He tasted of sweat and vodka and sugar, all raw and sharp and sinful.

You invited him back to your apartment. Maybe not in so many words, but you were beyond words now as you writhed and twined, bodies singing in a crescendo.

By morning, he was gone, and you were sure you would never see him again.

~

The radio crackled, a soft jazzy tune crooning through the room. It was the kind of song you could slow dance to in a kitchen with you lover in one of those perfect fairytale moments. Only this wasn’t a fairytale, you weren’t in your kitchen, and you certainly didn’t have a lover. You looked boredly around the hall from your metal folding chair, praying that the event would soon be over and you could leave.

“Hi,” someone said, sticking a hand in your face. “You look as miserable as I feel.”

“Your hand says ‘goodbye,’” you said bitterly. “You should listen to it and leave.”

“Or you could dance with me?”

The hand moved to be palm up in front of you, the man it was attached to bent slightly, the fur trim of his coat brushing against your foot as it bounced on your other knee. A thrill of recognition ran up your spine. You placed your fingers in his and let him pull you to your feet.

This time you were the only ones dancing, sweeping through the dusty church basement, earning disgruntled glares and confused laughter from the other mandated attendees of the charity event (you were supposed to be collecting and sorting donations for a rummage sale, but no one was bringing things and clearly none of you cared to be there). This time, when your bodies pressed together, it was an embrace. This time, you kissed him, a gentle kiss on the cheek to thank him for brightening your day when the song ended.

This time, as you emerged into the night, he was the one who invited you. Only it was less of an invitation and more of a plea.

“Come with me, stay with me. Love me,” he seemed to say, even though his words were just “I’m staying close by?”

And when his eyes shone the color of the cold Atlantic in the flickering street lights, just as sure to drown you, how could you refuse?

~

Days with Klaus stretched into weeks, into months, and suddenly it was going on two years sharing a cramped, shitty little apartment. Days with Klaus were more often nights, neither of you rising before 4pm if it could be avoided (and later, with you working your retail shift and waking him when you came home).

Some days glittered like stars and you danced. Some days you held him close as he tried to rattle himself apart, withdrawal or too strong a high equally capable of reducing him to a specter of tremors and sobs. Some days, he held you as cried, or more often simply stared out into a shadow world that only you could see, when the cruelties of the real one threatened to overwhelm you and you wanted nothing more than to sleep a dreamless sleep forever. Some days you screamed at each other, lungs burning with the intensity of your anger and your hurt. You thought about telling him to get out. You thought about begging him to never leave. You never said either one.

But most days, you just lived. Like any other young couple struggling to make ends meet and make their way in a world that couldn’t care less. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and it was yours, and you never wanted it to end.

And then it did.

You thought that the end of your relationship, when it came, would be brought on swift wings by an OD Klaus couldn’t come back from, or a proper prison sentence that you were too exhausted to wait for him through. You never thought it would be you.

At first you were just tired at night, you didn’t want to go out anymore, preferring a quiet night on the couch with your love. There was more watching, less doing. Dinner stopped turning into dancing.

You started to notice his fingerprints turning into bruises, even from the most gentle and reverent of touches.

You got so tired that you had to quit your job. Klaus found work, or some other way that you never asked about to make the money for rent and food that you lacked the appetite to eat anymore.

Most nights were spent with him holding you as you clung to him, desperate for contact, desperate for heat, desperately afraid.

You went to the doctor one day while Klaus wasn’t home. When he spoke, you stared at the sunny smiling face on the pain chart hanging on the cabinet behind him. You laughed bitterly, tears coursing down your cheeks. He asked you if you had any questions. You asked him for answers, for hope. He had none to give. So you walked out of the clinic, walked home through the snowy streets, your bones aching with every step.

You didn’t actually tell Klaus. You didn’t think you had to. The unfathomable sadness in his eyes told you that he already knew. You expected him to run. You knew he didn’t like death, hated it.

But he stayed. He cared for you as you shrunk down to a skeleton, as you struggled to keep even water in your system, as breathing became a fight, as your memory became cloudy. There were days where you couldn’t even remember his name, but you knew even then how much he loved you. He tried to keep your routine as regular as he could, to keep up spaghetti Thursdays and laying on the roof with him watching the stars while he smoked and talked nonsense and when he was really lucky you sang along to the soft, crooning radio. To pretend that you didn’t both cry yourselves to sleep more nights than not. He tried so hard for you.

One night, about six months after you began to get sick, you forced yourself to put on his favorite dress, even though it hung limply off your frame these days, and your favorite pair of bright red dancing shoes. He raised his eyebrows at you as you shuffled carefully down the hall, a soft, terribly fond smile gracing his face when you answered with a shrug. Your heart ached as you realized that you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen him smile, certainly not and mean it.

Slowly, you climbed out onto the fire escape and up to the roof of your apartment building, Klaus following close behind with his hands on your back and elbow to keep you steady. (He always managed to keep you steady, even when he was falling himself.)

You laid there on the flat plane, his fur-edged black coat as a blanket beneath the two of you. The haze of Klaus’s weed smoke floated through the air and the stars seemed to shine all the more for cutting through it. The moon was low and full, a watchful friend.

A soft, familiar note floated through the static of the portable radio above his head. You reached up to turn the dial, adding your own (rougher than it used to be) hum to the increased volume.

You stood up, reaching a hand down for him.

He frowned, puzzled.

You licked your cracked lips, more nervous than you had been in any of your days together.

“Let’s dance,” you said with a smile, tilting your head to one side.

He reached up and placed his fingers in yours, letting you tug him to his feet. Immediately, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, the two of you slotting together as you had every night of your lives, made for being in each other arms.

As you swayed, barely moving, you tried to pretend that even this little exertion didn’t make you dizzy and tired; he tried to pretend he didn’t feel the way you trembled, the way your heart fluttered unevenly. Your eyes met his, those oceans of emerald and sorrow, and you reached up, caressing his cheek with too cold fingers, your papery skin sliding roughly across his.

“I love you,” you murmured.

He said nothing as he dipped his head to press a gentle kiss to your lips, a kiss you never wanted to end, a kiss tainted with the salt of tears from both of you.

A kiss that only broke when you pitched forward into darkness, collapsing into his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM THE ANGST FAIRY GODMOTHER


End file.
